Hallucinate
by CheveronChick
Summary: After Legolas is poisoned by a spider and washed downstream Thranduil rushes to try and find him before its too late. Thankfully, the prince gets some help by something that might or might not be a fever dream.


**Thanks for coming happy reading!**

(Everything belong to Tolkien)

He felt the spider sting him, he felt the accompanying bone-chilling cold that came with the venom, he felt it burning under his skin, he felt an arrow hit his shoulder while he was distracted.

He felt himself falling out of the tree like a limp doll, but he did not feel himself plunge under the water nor did he hear a friend desperately screaming his name.

….

"Legolas."

The voice sounded like it was coming from far away, so far away, and it wasn't even a voice he recognized. Still barely clinging to what little consciousness he had left, Legolas found himself just a bit disappointed it wasn't his father.

"Legolas, you have to wake up now my love."

It was hard to breathe, and his chest burned like he was an inch away from a fire, and there was something cold and hard digging into the front of his shoulder. He was tired, so tired.

"Your father is looking for you. But he will not find you in time, you have to get up and meet him."

His father was looking for him, good. That was good.

Why did his father need to find him again?

The voice sounded far more desperate, "Legolas please you must wake up. You can't leave him too."

Leave his father? He would never, he could never. Who would ever suggest that he might?

Somehow he dragged his eyelids open and found himself staring at a patch of blue sky through the canopy of the trees. He blinked up at it for several moments before turning his head towards his shoulder to find an arrow still sticking out of it, "Well that isn't good."

Deciding to ignore it, for the time being, he looked at the rest of his surroundings but found nobody, had he not heard a voice? Had somebody not just been speaking to him? With great effort and a loud groan of pain, he sat up to get a better look - pointedly ignoring a pain in his stomach.

He had washed up in a shallow part of the river, deposited against a mudbank, his legs still submerged in the water, "Hello?"

The forest stayed perfectly still around him with not so much as a fluttering bird, there was no answering voice, no nearby elf he could sense. After nearly a full minute of listening as intently as elvenly possible, he concluded the voice had only been apart of some fever dream brought on by the spider venom running through him.

Speaking of which, Legolas carefully rolled up his shirt to peer at his wound the best he could, hissing both in pain at what he saw. By the looks of the wound the spider still had its pinchers on him when he fell from the tree, which had raked a long and deep gash across the entirety of his stomach, the flesh around it already nearly black, "Oh, that is so much worse."

He needed help. He needed help hours ago. He was going to die.

Legolas frowned at himself, you are not going to die. Now pull yourself together and figure this out.

He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the pain in his body, the cold in his soul, and the difficulty breathing. He shrugged off the thick outer layer of his tunic - ripping the sleeve off of his right shoulder as to not jostle the arrow - and then carefully placed it as best as he could over his bleeding stomach. Next, he took his belt off and wrapped it as tightly as he could around the wound in an effort to stop the bleeding.

After a minute of rest, he attempted to pull himself to his feet but came crashing down on all fours nearly immediately, gagging with pain.

Staying here was not an option. Staying here would surely be his end.

Crawling as best as he could off of the mud bank he searched the ground for a suitable stick to help keep him upright. After some searching he found something suitable, a thick branch that looked as if it had broken off in the recent storm, with great effort he stuck one end into the soft earth and used it pulled himself up, trying his best to only use his arm muscles and none of his stomach.

There was no way he was going to make it back to the stronghold like this, but maybe if he made it halfway someone might find him.

….

"He fell? What do you mean he fell?"

The injured warrior winced, either at her king's tone or from one of the healers stitching one of her wounds, "I'm sorry my king we tried to grab him, I swear we tried, and we tried to follow him down the river. But there was so many of them and the river was moving so fast with the spring thaw and-"

"I know, I know you tried. I know." Thranduil ran his hands through his hair that was usually kept so pristine, and took a deep breath to calm himself, seeing the same anguished fear in her eyes that felt as if it was going to paralyze him.

All of the warriors loved and respected his son, but none did like those on his patrol. They would have done anything and everything in their power to keep him alive and well, and judging by the number that came back injured compared to usual was probably a testament to that. They were Legolas' friends, his best friends, some since childhood.

It wasn't their fault.

Tears pooled in her eyes, and both her lower lip and voice was trembling, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry-"

The healer backed away as the king sat next to her on the bed, this poor sweet elleth who had had known Legolas since before she could talk, who used to spend long summer days playing in the woods with his son, who helped hold this kingdom together with everything she had, who lost her brothers the same night Legolas lose his mother.

"Not your fault." Thranduil put an arm around her and gently pulled her in for a hug, "It isn't your fault." Galion appearing at the doorway drew his attention away, the search party was ready to leave, "I have to go."

"Let me come, let me come help search. I can do it."

"I know that you can, but you need to stay here with your patrol. Some of them are badly hurt, with Legolas gone somebody needs to keep them together. We'll find him."

…..

Was the world spinning? It felt like it was for some reason and no matter what he did he could not right it. It felt as if the stick was the only thing keeping him grounded to the earth and not floating into the clouds.

What direction was he even going?

He hoped in the right one.

The trees could not help, there was too much darkness in him now for them to recognize him for what he was.

How long had he been walking? He wasn't sure he could even justify himself enough to call it a walk - but it was still not yet a crawl.

The overwhelming fear that he was going in the wrong direction overtook him, and he stalled which caused him to tumble to the ground. He knew what happened to the Elves that were captured. Part of becoming a captain was a vow to those beneath you that you would not let the be taken alive and if rescue was not possible you were to end it for them.

But there was no one here now to help him.

And if he was going in the wrong direction he was about to have the worst immortal life that ever lived.

Oh Valar, everything hurt.

There was a deep and dark nothing where there was usually a song. His connection to the forest growing weaker and his connection to something unknown that he wanted no part of growing stronger.

He tried to get up, his arms straining as hard as they could against himself and gravity but it was no use.

…..

It was a gamble, a blind gamble on what direction home he might try to take. All of it rested on guesswork of river currents and where he might have gotten dropped off.

They would find him. There was no other choice.

Thranduil set off down the path deemed most likely for him to take and asked - not prayed, as a rule, he did not pray - that for once something might work out in their favor.

He could not do this again.

Why did it feel so final this time?

…..

He tried and failed four times to get up and so he spoke to the sky, the forest, and anybody that much cared to listen because if he was going to die he did not want to die alone. Here. So cold and alone.

"I have asked nothing of you. When you took my mother I asked nothing, when you took my friends I asked nothing."

Everything hurt so much, he just wanted it to stop hurting.

"There is so much I could ask."

He couldn't help a cough and he refused to check if it was blood.

"Please don't let them take me. Please let me die before that happens."

…

He wasn't here. He wasn't anywhere near the riverbank that Thranduil had been sent to. The others hadn't found him yet either, the forest would have told him if they had.

"Please no."

Not again. He wouldn't survive the heartbreak of losing his son, wouldn't struggle with the same things he felt after he lost his wife. Every breath felt like glass in his lungs and his ears heard everything and absolutely nothing at all.

Where could they look and was the enemy looking too?

If he was swept too far down the river... The thought itself nearly made Thranduil sick.

"Please don't let him die. Please help me find him."

…..

He hadn't expected the door to the Halls of Mandos to look exactly like doors to his father's bedroom. They opened and there was no great light like he had expected, and it definitely did not feel like he was capable of walking through the doors. Was Mandos supposed to drag him?

But it was not Mandos that stepped out of the doors.

"Nana."

His heart slammed in his chest and began beating again, the doors snapping shut in time with it but his mother stayed in the forest with him, looking down with devastation.

"Oh, my leaf." She knelt on the ground by where he lay, laying his head in her lap, "Look what has happened to you."

Had there been anything left in him he might have cried, but his body could not even spare a tear, "I miss you."

"I miss you too."

….

A bright white songbird landed on a branch near his face and tweeted incessantly, flapping its wings as loudly as it could.

Startled, all of Thranduil's senses focused on the bird. A bird he was certain he had ever before seen in his woods. Having gained his attention it tweeted loudly again, circling his head once to drop a bright green leaf in his lap and then flying into the trees.

With all haste, Thranduil and those accompanying him chased after it with all haste.

….

"But you can't come with me. It is not our time to be together."

There was nothing he wanted more than to leave this body with his mother, leave all of this pain and the cold and the wrongness behind. His body did not feel like his anymore anyways, "I can't stay here."

His mother pressed kisses all over his face, pressing a hand lightly to his stomach while she did so and a warmth glowed. The same kind of warmth he got whenever Lord Elrond healed him and some of the pain lessened, "You have to stay here."

As some of the pain cleared, so did his head. "Ada."

"He's looking for you, my love."

…

The bird never got too far ahead of them, never got out of sight. It checked back often to make sure they were still following closely, tweeting and calling to make it easier for those who could not see it.

If Thranduil had not known better he might have thought the bird wanted his son to be saved as much as he did.

….

Somehow his mother managed to pull him to his feet, his stick once again firmly in his hands and holding his weight.

"Come now, my sweet baby, it's just like learning to walk. One in front of the other, you were going the right way."

With a stifled groan, Legolas managed to get himself hobbling along again, going the way he had originally been heading as his mother smiled and cheered for him but grew fainter.

…

They would never have found him without the bird. He had been whisked much farther south than they had ever thought. Thranduil hoped they would not be too late because of this fatal error.

…

He didn't know how long he had been hobbling, but again he crashed to the ground and not even his mother could get him up once more. "I'm sorry. I tried."

She knelt next to him, cupping his face in her hands, "You did wonderfully, better than anybody could have asked. I'm so proud of you."

The world was fading again, and he couldn't feel her touch anymore. His eyes slid shut of their own accord and he did not care about the doors anymore, or how he would get through them.

She whispered to him, "Call for him, call now my love, call for your father. He will hear you. He will find you."

He couldn't open his eyes but he managed to get his mouth to form one last coherent and somewhat loud word, "Ada!"

…

The bird had gone silent, and for a moment Thranduil feared the worst but then he heard the single best thing his ears had ever heard in his life.

A broken cry, but strong enough to be heard: "Ada!"

The search party pressed on with greater speed, finally finding him a minute later. Laying in a field facing exactly where the bird was now sitting.

His stomach was a bloody, black mess and his arrow wound did not look much better. But he was still alive.

…

Everything still hurt, but not as much as it did.

The peaceful forest had been replaced with the familiar sounds of home, he must have been moved to his own bed. His father must have found him.

"Ada?"

He was almost absolutely certain no sound came out of his mouth but there was a response immediately, "Right here."

Two large, warm hands took his two cold ones and he might have closed his eyes in relief had he been able to open them in the first place.

"Here." A water cup was pressed to his lips and he took the smallest sips of water he could manage. Once the cup was removed Legolas felt his father adjust his blankets so he was warmer before taking his hands once more.

"You found me."

"Of course I did."

Legolas tried to think of what happened in the forest but could only catch brief snippets. "I can't open my eyes."

"So don't try, you should still be asleep for a few days yet." One hand moved to his face, checking is temperature and briefly pressing a thumb against his closed eyelids to prove his point.

"Everything hurts." His voice sounds small, childlike perhaps. Legolas knew that but didn't particularly care. Because everything did hurt, and even though he couldn't remember much he could remember the fear and desperation he had felt.

Sensing the shift in his son's mood Thranduil climbed onto the bed with his son, resting his back against the headboard and pillowing Legolas' head on his leg. Unknowingly mirroring his wife from a day before. "Well, that's what you get for falling out of treetops."

One hand began running up and down Legolas arm like he used to do when he was still small enough to fall asleep in his arms, while the other one kept holding his hand. "Go back to sleep, you will feel better when you wake."

 **…**

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